


The High Way to Hell (IOH) Drabbles

by acareeroutofrobbingbanks



Series: The High Way to Hell [7]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Magic, Multi, Mythology - Freeform, Supernatural - Freeform, the high way to hell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2018-08-22 19:02:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8296679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acareeroutofrobbingbanks/pseuds/acareeroutofrobbingbanks
Summary: Small extras set in thwth universe





	1. The Cobra Crew

“So, to make a long story short, I’m kind of a were-cobra,” Gabe said, wincing as he said it. Pete and Ryan were sitting next to him for moral support, and his band looked shocked, like they hadn’t quite processed the words yet. Ryan cleared his throat.

“I mean, technically, the encantado in you is probably pretty diluted with human, given that it’s supposed to be kind of like the selkies in Ireland, where you can only be human for brief periods of time. I imagine multiple generations of interbreeding with humans reversed the process with you, which is fascinating. It’s also interesting that you’re a cobra, given that this usually happens to dolphins. Supposedly you could tell encantados at parties because they wore hats to hide their blowholes.”

Possibly bringing Ryan along for moral support was a bad idea. Unfortunately, he knew more about what Gabe was than anyone. He was a walking myth encyclopedia, and Gabe’s father had no advice on the matter. Apparently, it was a trait he had inherited from his mother.

“A were-snake?” Ryland asked after a long pause.

“More of a reverse-selkie,” Ryan said, and Gabe glared at him.

“Do you get any cool powers?” Nate asked.

“Aside from the act of physically changing form?” Gabe asked.

“Well, I mean, turning into a snake doesn’t really sound as useful as, say, flying or superstrength,” Nate shrugged. “If we’re gonna have to keep fighting off the end of the world every time Pete fucks something up, it’d be nice to have more of an edge.”

“Hey, I never asked you to fight off the end of the world!” Pete said indignantly. “Have you ever actually had to go hand to hand with a monster?”

“No, but we’ve been training in our free time because we know it’s inevitable,” Victoria said. Gabe covered his face with his hands.

“I might be venomous?”

“That’s pretty badass,” Nate admitted.

“Most cobras are, so it would stand to reason,” Ryan said.

“Plus, he’s really fucking big,” Pete said. Gabe felt his cheeks heat up, because they were making it sound way cooler than it was. Mostly, being an entirely different species was terrifying. He was working on being able to transform on command, but it was difficult. It wasn’t like having a superpower. It felt more like a quirk or like lactose intolerance than like being a superhero. Just an unusual reaction. Patrick got hives when he was surrounded by cats. Gabe turned into a snake when he was on peyote. It didn’t feel like something to brag about, but their expressions were slowly turning awed.

“Really, it isn’t that cool,” Gabe insisted. To his surprise, Alex started laughing, slowly at first, then doubled over with laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Gabe demanded. Alex looked up, his eyes watering as he did.

“Do you… realize...” he laughed, trying to get the words out with some difficulty, “Do you realize that you named the band after yourself?”

No one was able to help but laugh, even, eventually, Gabe.


	2. The Incredibly Awesome Kickass Adventure of June Kennedy and the Fall Out Boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe discovers Andy playing guitar, which makes no sense, because Andy can't play guitar. Shenanigans ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for death and swearing

Joe knew something was wrong before he even got on the bus. He had just seen Pete and Patrick arguing about something in the venue, and yet he very distinctly heard guitar being played on the bus. More specifically, he heard Van Halen’s “Eruption” guitar solo being played on the bus, and it definitely wasn’t a recording as there were a few mistakes, but not many. It was so good that Joe didn’t even think to feel concerned until he heard Andy sigh and say “dammit” under his breath.

Andy didn’t play guitar.

Joe burst onto the bus, eyes narrowed, to see Andy sitting primly on the ground with his legs tucked underneath him, hair hanging down over his face while he plucked absently at the bright silver Gibson SG in his hands.

“Ouch!” Andy gasped, dropping the guitar onto his lap and shaking his hand out, dripping blood onto the finish of the guitar. “Damn, never get used to that. Maybe something easier. Johnny Cash till the bleeding stops…” he sucked at the blood on his fingers while making a face.

“Heeeey there buddy, no offense or anything, but what the fuck?” Joe said, and Andy jumped, the guitar clattering to the floor with a noise that made Joe want to sob, and clutched his hand to his chest. One of the strings snapped with an angry twang.

“Oh god, you scared me!” Andy gasped. “Er, um, sorry, I just didn’t expect you’d be back so soon… pal,” he said, gulping.

“Since when do you play guitar?” Joe asked, his eyes narrowed. Andy winced, and Joe noted that he wasn’t wearing glasses.

“Well, um, you know, I just saw the guitar and it was really, I mean, really pretty, so I thought I would, um, give it a try?” Andy said, giving Joe a hopeful smile. 

“You were playing Van Halen.”

“Well, I mean, I love Van halen.”

“Since when do you play?”

“I’m a fast learner!”

“You don’t know how to play guitar!” Joe shouted, and before he could draw a weapon, Pete and Patrick ran into the bus.

“We heard yelling?” Pete said.

“That’s my guitar!” Patrick shouted indignantly, and snatched it up off the ground. “What did you  _ do  _ to it?”

“Oh, dude, that thing is so gorgeous!” Andy gushed. “I mean, I know lots of rockstars are partial to Fender but there’s just something about Gibson and the rich sound it makes, feels closer to acoustic but still has the power of electric, I just love it.”

“Yes, that’s why I like it,” Patrick snapped.

“You’re not Andy,” Joe said flatly.

“Well, not exactly,” Andy, or whatever was inside him, hedged. “Damn, I usually last a little longer than this, but I just couldn’t resist. Your guitar, man,” he seemed at a loss for words, though Patrick was still glaring at him.

“Who are you and what are you doing in our drummer?” Pete asked flatly. Not-Andy rolled his eyes.

“Drummer. Figures. Three of you play stringed instruments and I get the drummer,” he stood up, his face petulant as he crossed his arms. “My name’s June. June Kennedy. And I’ve been having a difficult time staying in a body.”

The tiny dining room tables crammed onto tour buses were rarely used, but that day four physical members of Fall Out Boy and three spiritual members sat down at the table to discuss the problem. 

June, as it turned out, was thirteen when she was last in her own body, which she estimated was a year or two ago. She had an impressive collection of soda flavored LipSmackerz, had dated a few boys but “nothing serious yet,” missed her mother, and really, really loved guitars.

“What are you doing here, though?” Pete asked.

“Well, I recently had to vacate my physical body,” June-in-Andy said, frowning. “I was just in the car with my mom and then I fell asleep, and then I couldn’t find my body. If I’m not in a body for a long time I start floating away, so I try to stay inside people from time to time until I can find my body again and go back to normal. I was aiming for one of the guitarists, because I missed playing, but I guess my aim was off,” she said with a frown. 

“What do you mean, you were aiming for us?” Joe asked.

“I dunno how to describe it,” she said shrugging a little. “I just sort of look at people and throw myself forward and try to land in the right one.” June paused and scrunched Andy’s face up a little. “This body feels weird, though. It’s really strong I can tell, and he’s always so  _ thirsty _ .”

Pete and Joe met each other’s eyes briefly and had to hold back a hysterical fit of giggles.

“But I’m not mean or anything,” June continued. “I just missed playing guitar! And I’m also scared of floating away, but until I can get back in my body,” she shrugged again, flipping Andy’s hair behind his shoulders, “Anyway, I’m usually not in any one body for long. I kinda float out eventually after a few weeks, or if I get noticed as weird I can bolt after a day or so.” She frowned up at the others. “Are you going to make me leave?”

Joe opened his mouth to tell her that he was sorry but yes she had to leave; they were on tour, but Pete jumped up first.

“You’re thirteen and you can play guitar like that?” he asked. She nodded, giving him a rather proud smile. Pete grinned back.

“You know how to play the drums?” he asked.

“A little,” she replied.

“And I’m guessing you don’t know how to drive?” he continued.

“No clue,” she agreed. Pete’s smile widened.

“Why don’t you stay in Andy for a couple of days so you stay grounded while we drive you back home to find your body?”

***

“Andy’s gonna be pissed at you,” Joe said. He hadn’t contested Pete’s decision, however, just raised his eyebrows at him. Patrick hadn’t fought it either. He looked like he was going to, but June’s (Andy’s) eyes looked so hopeful that he let his words drift off. It wasn’t like Patrick could crush a kid’s dreams. Especially not a kid that could absolutely shred on guitar.

It was lucky that they had a day off, because none of them wanted to cancel, not even June, but she was, unfortunately, completely inept at drums. She apparently lived in a small town in Oregon, which was also unfortunate given their current position in New York, but it wasn’t as though Andy looked any different, so getting plane tickets wasn’t at all difficult.

June in Andy’s body was practically vibrating with enthusiasm as they waited in the security line, something completely baffling to Pete. He’d hated planes for as long as he could remembered, but she seemed absolutely thrilled by the idea of being up in the air.

“First time flying?” he guessed, and she shook her head, nearly sending Andy’s glasses flying off. (They explained to her that if she did not wear his glasses she would probably give herself a headache. 

“No, I’ve flown before, but it’s so cool, isn’t it? Can I have the window seat?”

A woman in the next line snorted at the grown man bouncing and asking for a window seat, and Pete shot a glare her direction before saying “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

“Pete, don’t swear in front of her,” Patrick chastised in a low voice.

“Dude, I’m fucking thirteen,” June said, and Patrick scowled. Joe laughed a little too loud, and the TSA agent glared at him.

Once they were seated in the waiting area on hard plastic chairs, June turned her whole body around and she pulled her legs up underneath her as she continued talking to Pete.

“So what kinda music do you guys play?” she asked. Her hands kept running through Andy’s hair, a nervous tick, and her aura buzzed with excitement, anticipation, and pale blue fear.

“Pop music,” Pete said simply. She frowned, looking doubtful, and then pointedly glanced down at the tattoos peaking over the top of Andy’s shirt collar.

“This guy plays in a pop band?” she asked doubtfully.

“Sometimes I can’t believe it either,” Joe said. 

“You might have heard us on the radio,” Pete added. “Sugar We’re Going Down, Thanks for the Memories?”

“I don’t really listen to pop music,” June said, a definite tone of superiority coloring Andy’s voice.

“Well that’s just boring,” Pete said cheerfully. It was rather disconcerting to see Andy sticking his tongue out at him, but he ignored it. He pulled out chapstick to combat the fiercely dry air conditioning in the airport and June lit up.

“Can I borrow that? Boys have super dry lips,” she said, and Pete handed her the tube of chapstick, trying not to look completely creeped out.

“Thanks,” she said, smearing the chapstick all over Andy’s mouth. Patrick shuddered delicately, and she rolled her eyes.

“It wouldn’t hurt you to take care of your lips too,” she chastised him. “So then, who plays what?”

“I’m the guitarist,” Joe said. “Pete’s the bassist,” he pointed, and Pete waived, “And Patrick’s the lead singer.”

“And rhythm guitarist,” Patrick added. June looked taken aback.

“Huh,” she said, “that’s funny, I thought the singer was-”

“Pete,” all three of them said in unison.

“We know,” Patrick assured her. She giggled a little at that, untucked her legs, and stretched out, covering her mouth with one hand in a gesture that shouldn’t have seemed as pointedly feminine as it did. She shook out Andy’s hair again before continuing the onslaught of questions.

“So, you guys weren’t nearly surprised enough about me,” she said decisively. “Why’s that?”

“We’re magic,” Pete said, eyes twinkling. “You’re not scary to us. You’re inhabiting the body of a vampire, after all.”

“I am not,” June said indignantly. “I was just out in the sun.”

“He’s a special vampire,” said Patrick, completely deadpan. 

“You guys are weird,” June said. 

June took the window seat, bouncing up and down with a frenzied excitement while she waited for the plane to take off. She pressed her fingers to the tiny porthole of a window, and loudly chewed Pete’s gum while the plane took off, scrunching up Andy’s face when her ears popped anyway.

***

Oregon was dense with trees. The whole state was beautiful, but in spite of the creepy, marshy woods that filled the state, it hadn’t appeared to be very plagued by the supernatural, so Patrick mostly knew it from brief glimpses of Portland he had seen flashing by in the window of the tour bus. June, however, knew it like the back of her hand.

“Head towards the one-oh-one South,” she ordered as soon as they got in the car outside of Sea Tac. “It’s a little longer, but the view is better.”

“I didn’t know that highway went this far north,” Pete said. June’s lip curled.

“Are you from California?” she said the state name like a dirty word. 

“I live in LA,” Pete admitted. June threw him a disparaging look, then held her face in her hands.

“Just drive,” she sighed. 

The drive on the misty coast was beautiful, and June got more animated the further south they drove.

“I must be in a coma or something, but oh man, my mom is gonna be so happy to see me back to being me! No one’s ever gonna believe this,” she said, grinning at the guys. “I still think you guys are just weird, not magic.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Patrick said.

Hours of driving later, the sun had long since set, and they were finally approaching her hometown’s city limits on the edge of a beautiful valley. June in Andy’s body was vibrating with excitement, face pressed up against the window of the car, leaving fingerprints against the glass.

“I’m almost home!” she cried, throwing her arms around Patrick’s neck and kissing his cheek (a gesture made a little disturbing given the scrape of Andy’s beard on his face.) “Oh man, I hope I’m not held back in school or anything.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Joe said, shaking his head. “Besides, guitar skills like yours, you can probably drop out of school and be a musician, like we did.”

“Stop being a bad influence on the children,” Patrick demanded. June giggled. 

“Which way to your house?” Joe asked. June frowned, and bit her lip.

“Turn right here, I think,” she said.

“You think?” Joe asked.

“Well, it’s been a while,” she said defensively. “It also looks kind of different. Maybe there’s been construction since I was last here.”

Joe nodded, but Patrick caught Pete’s eyes in the rearview mirror, reflecting the same concern he felt. Something didn’t sit right anymore.

“There!” she yelled, pointing at a dilapidated blue house. Joe swung the rental car into the driveway, and June ran out of the car and was banging on the door before anyone could say anything else to her. 

Patrick ran out after her, a sickness rising in his chest as he hurried up to the door with her. 

A gruff looking man answered the door and narrowed his eyes at the two of them. June faltered for a moment, her excitement turning quickly to confusion on her face.

“I’m… looking for the Kennedys?” she said hesitantly. 

“Never heard of ‘em,” the man said. “That all?”

“No, wait, sir,” June pleaded, stretching one hand out and laying her palm flat on the door, not letting him close it. “It’s very important. “They must’ve been the family that lived here before you. Can’t you tell me anything about them? A forwarding address, something?”

The man snorted, an almost cruel mirth in his eyes.

“You oughta check down by the cemetery, kid. The previous owners died years ago,” he said.

June’s hand against the door fell slack, and the man slammed it shut. 

***

The five of them went to the cemetery.

Andy was still in the back of his own mind while June inhabited it, overwhelmed with the shared grief he felt, grief for the loss of this girl’s life. June, in his body, sobbed and sobbed, falling onto Patrick’s chest and crying that it couldn’t be true, it couldn’t, and Andy couldn’t say anything to her.

But they did go to the cemetery, and so they sat there, right in front of June and her mother’s graves.

“I used to play in the cemetery. When I was a kid,” June said. No one said anything.

“What do I do?” June asked. Everyone looked back at her, just as lost as she was, and Andy felt anger rising up in the body they were sharing.

“You’re supposed to know what to do!” she yelled. “What do I do now? I can’t go back into my body, it’s  _ rotting _ !” she screamed, their voice cracking on the word. Everyone flinched.

“Maybe,” Joe said, gently, pleadingly, “maybe you need to pass on.” June reeled back to lash out again, but Joe held out his hands. “You said if you can’t find a body you just start floating upwards, right? Maybe you need to let that happen. Maybe you need to let go.”

June looked like she was going to argue, but instead her voice came out sounding very small. 

“But I’m afraid. I don’t want to die.”

Andy’s heart ached, felt crushed with a pain so real it was physically hurting his chest. 

“You’re already dead,” Pete said quietly. 

With one last burst of grief, June was gone. Andy was suddenly alone in his body, he alone able to control it again. He flexed his fingers experimentally, then looked up.

“Um, hey,” he said. “I think she’s gone.”

Pete shook his head, looking up. “No, she’s still there,” he said. His voice sounded sticky with tears, but he blinked, swallowed hard, and cleared his throat. “She’s leaving now, though.”

They were all silent. The cemetery had gone quiet, soundless in the night.

“She’ll be okay,” Pete whispered, to whom, Andy wasn’t sure.

But Pete couldn’t lie. And Andy believed him.

 

Back on the road, things were business as usual. 

“If you ever touch my guitar again…” Patrick threatened Andy, and Andy glared at him.

“I was  _ possessed _ ,” Andy said. “Literally possessed. I do not play guitar. Jesus, you had to replace one damn string…”

“I had to restring the whole thing so that it all sounded the same, thank you very much,” Patrick said, but he was more playful than actually angry. Andy rolled his eyes, turning back to the computer. KTC had sent all of them an email, but no one else had read it, so Andy figured he should before they ended up missing some vitally important interview once again.

The email, however, didn’t have any dates or vital information, just an attached screenshot of a forum discussing Fall Out Boy. Most of it was the usual crap Andy avoided, how they were all worthless, gay sellouts, but one comment stood out from the others.

“ _ As far as pop music goes, it could be worse. _ \-  _ June Kennedy _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this came from the drabble prompt on the blog: "What sort of chaos would ensue if one of the boys were to accidentally, maybe, become possessed by a not particularly harmful nuanced ghost?" and it ended up... a little on the angsty side, which was so not my original intention, but oh well. Thanks as always for reading, tell me what you think about it! <3


	3. Victrick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick is tired of falling in love. Victoria doesn't believe in falling in love. A story about friendship, sex, kissing, drinking, and everything but love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mysticpapertree sent me a drabble idea on tumblr (sidebar, y'all can always send me drabble ideas on tumblr for extra stories. I may not always take them, but I do more often than not, and usually when I don't it's because the idea is already slated for a chapter) and requested the background of Vicky-T and Patrick ending up in their friends-with-benefits relationship. I was going to maybe make it go on a little longer, but I kind of liked it ending where it did. If you guys are interested in watching this relationship progress more, just let me know, maybe this'll be a two-part drabble. 
> 
> Warning for drinking and sexual content
> 
> Enjoy!

In the past, Patrick asked Pete for girl advice. Pete had dated a lot of girls, slept with a lot of girls- he was suave, was the point. He would blame it on the ability to read auras, but Patrick knew it was more than that. He had an innate ability. He could flirt. He was bright. He did not give very good advice.

And frankly, after the year Patrick had had, he didn’t want to try his hardest and get far only to be crushed again. He couldn’t handle getting crushed again. So he decided he would rather have things end quickly. He knew there was a supposed rule about how long he was supposed to wait to call a girl, but he just wanted to grit his teeth and get it over with. 

Andy dropped Patrick off at his apartment before driving Pete and Joe to the airport. Patrick was in the mood to curl up under one of the blankets his mom sent him and maybe lose himself in an old vinyl for The Attractions, but he invited his band in to be polite. Unfortunately, they came in anyway.

“Decor hasn’t changed much in here,” Joe noted. “I didn’t get to ask you last time, by the way, when did you get good taste in art?” 

Patrick glanced up at the print Joe was looking at. It was original, from a local artist Patrick had already forgotten the name of. The piece was abstract and made of bright colors and bold lines, and it made his heart throb to look at, but it would’ve hurt more to take it down. 

“Chicago picked it out,” he said. Joe pulled back, guilty looking, but Patrick fought to tamp down the emotions and pretend.

“Cool looking, huh?” he said.

“Way too cool for you,” Joe agreed.

“You got any food in here?” Pete asked. He looked suspiciously like he was going to flop down on the couch, and Patrick crossed his arms. His nerves were way too taut to deal with his friends, well meaning or not.

“Nope,” he said. Pete threw himself ass first onto the couch and let his sneakers drag over the arm of the couch, leaving behind streaks of dirt and gasoline. Patrick glared at him, and Pete grinned back, sticking his tongue out at him.

“Anything to drink?” he asked. He stretched out further. 

“Don’t you guys have to go explain how Pete destroyed a rental car? Because I don’t think he has angry wood nymph insurance.”

“I’ve got everything insurance,” Pete said, pointing at his eyes. “And, you know. I’m also Pete Wentz.”

“You were born to be an asshole celebrity,” Joe said. 

“What I’m trying to say is that you’re all welcome to go home,” Patrick said. 

“C’mon, you don’t want to spend some quality time-?”

“We’re on our way out,” Andy said, yanking Pete to his feet. “I’ll be in the car.”

Joe followed Andy, but Pete grabbed Patrick’s shoulder. He stared into Patrick’s eyes for a second, his eyes piercing even without glowing.

“You’ll call if you need me?” he asked. Patrick’s brow furrowed.

“I’m fine, Pete,” he said. Pete squeezed his shoulder.

“But you will? If you need me?”

“I’ll call you,” Patrick said. “You too?”

Pete grinned at him, not actually responding when he left. Patrick felt a little guilty, but was awash in relief the second the door fell shut with an industrial click. 

Patrick put on a record, dropping the needling into the middle of the vinyl, not really caring where the music started as long as the noise filled up the suddenly too large apartment. He didn’t want to be with anyone, no, but he didn’t exactly want to be alone. 

Patrick spread himself out on the sofa, trying to take up as much space as possible. He glared over at the kitchen. That was the worst room. He could still hear echoes of Chicago banging together pots and pans if the apartment ever got too quiet, but it was easy to avoid, as Patrick ordered takeout for every meal and had a disposable enough budget that he didn’t bother saving leftovers.

Music blared against the soundproofed walls, but it didn’t really help all that much. The bright colors of the painting were glaring at him. The kitchen still smelled inexplicably like deep dish pizza.

Patrick pulled the slip of hotel notepad paper out of his back pocket. There was no name attached to it, but holding it did give him the ghost of a smile as he remembered the more than friendly squeeze of his ass that accompanied receiving it. He pulled his knees in close to his chest, no longer eager to take up space, and dialed.

The phone rang six times before going to a scratchy voicemail recording that only sort of sounded like Victoria’s voice. Patrick considered hanging up, but the phone beeped, and it was too late.

“Um, hey Vicky- or, um, Victoria? You said you preferred Victoria, right? Oh, sorry, ah, this is Patrick? I was just calling because, uh? You gave me your number? Anyway, you’re probably on a plane. I’m a dumbass. Call me back if you feel like it. Bye?”

Patrick threw his phone onto the opposite side of the couch. He stared at it, groaned to himself, and closed his eyes. He had barely slept the night previously so that they could make checkout, and he was tired enough to sleep longer. 

Besides, he thought, drifting off on the couch, if he was asleep, he could not see anything offensive in the apartment he used to love so much.

Patrick woke up in the darkness to the shriek of his phone ringing in the silent apartment. He rolled over to the other side of the couch, blinking bleariness out of his eyes as he flipped his phone open.

“Hello?” he sounded exactly like someone who just woke up, and he hadn’t even checked the caller ID.

“Patrick.” The sound of his name curled warm around the inside of his ear, familiar, but intimate.

“Victoria?” he asked. He still sounded muzzy, and he swallowed, trying to clear his throat.

“You called,” she said. It wasn’t a question, but she sounded pleased about it.

“You gave me your number,” Patrick said. It felt like stupid thing to say, but she didn’t make him feel nervous.

“I guess I just didn’t expect it so soon,” she laughed a little, though he hadn’t said anything funny.

“So, did you just want me to have your number, or…?” Patrick didn’t finish the question, and Victoria laughed again. It was quiet, self-conscious, and very unlike the Victoria he had seen before.

“I don’t know, I just,” she paused. “Do you want to get drinks?”

“What, now?” he asked. “I’m in Chicago. You live in LA, right?”

“Well, yeah,” Victoria said. “But you’ll be out here soon, right?”

Patrick’s stomach twisted. He liked Victoria, liked the way her voice sounded and the spark of mischief in her eyes less like Pete’s bombastic mischief, but something quieter, more cunning, similar to Patrick. But he didn’t want to like someone else.

“I don’t think we should do this,” he blurted out. 

“Why?” Victoria asked. She didn’t sound upset, and so Patrick swallowed, taking a deep breath before continuing.

“I just-” Patrick made a frustrated noise. “Would you think I was a total asshole if I told you I just wasn’t ready for a relationship? Because I could go all day on not having inter-scene relationships and how opposing tour schedules would suck but I’m just.” Even in the dark, he could still see the bright yellows of the painting. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You don’t want to date?” Victoria asked.

“Not right now,” Patrick said. Victoria hummed, but did not hang up. The line was silent save for the crackle of static for a minute.

“To tell you the truth,” Victoria said slowly, “I’m not actually much of a dating person.” 

Patrick made a face. In the pause, he turned on a lamp, warming up the room with light. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s just. I’m not actually that much of a romantic person,” she said. “So we could still meet for drinks, but we don’t have to date, if you see what I mean.”

Patrick blinked. “‘Get drinks’?” he repeated.

“We don’t even have to stop at the bar if you want me to drive you from LAX right to my house,” Victoria said.

“Are you asking me out on a one night stand?” Patrick asked, dumbfounded. “I mean. I’m not exactly sexy. I’ve also never had a one night stand before, but I don’t think that’s how this works.”

“I’m not,” Victoria said. “And, for the record, you’re totally sexy. Like, you’ve got that Peter Parker vibe. The whole nerdy superhero with a heart of gold thing. Also, You’ve got excellent hips. But more importantly, not a one night stand. Unless you really don’t like it.”

“Thanks? I’d prefer not to be compared to people named Pete, but thanks. So you mean friends with benefits?”

“Let’s not put a name on it yet,” Victoria suggested. “Let’s just go out for drinks.”

It was a bad idea.

“Yeah, okay,” Patrick said.

“Okay,” Victoria said. Patrick couldn’t see her, but it sounded like she was smiling.

***

Patrick lasted two whole nights in his apartment before calling Pete. Pete, ever hungry for human connection, was more than delighted to let Patrick stay over with him “indefinitely.” Rather than giving Patrick time to settle in, Pete took him out to a local seedy club where he could scout new and shitty pop-punk bands. Gearing up for a night of cheap beer and bad music, Patrick texted Victoria from the car.

_ made it to la. You busy? _

“I know it’s all West Coast and you’re weird, but this place feels like home, trust me,” Pete said, his teeth practically glowing in the velvet dark December night. 

“I didn’t spend as much time in bars as you,” Patrick said. “Home to me is usually sunnier. Quieter. Colder.”

“Humor me; you’ll have fun,” Pete said.

“The wildest thing about learner that you can’t lie is that you really believe that,” Patrick said, rolling his eyes. His phone chimed in his lap.

_ When and where? _

Patrick grinned a little in the darkness. He felt bubbly, holding in a fizzing secret that didn’t really need to be secret, but he wanted it to be.

“How long are you going to keep me out here?” Patrick asked.

“Until you smile,” Pete said. Patrick beamed at him. Pete rolled his eyes.

“Until you smile like you mean it,” he amended. 

“What if I have somewhere else to be?” Patrick asked. His phone chimed again.  _ Is there more incentive if I tell you what I’m wearing? _

“You can fuck around on GarageBand any day,” Pete said. “Come on, dude, I’m talking lights! Dancing! And this new band, they’re really pretty good. Or, well, the demo sounded good. The lead singer said they were kinda rough live…”

Patrick groaned and thumped his head back on the headrest. “I’ll give you an hour and a half.”

“My dude,” Pete shoved Patrick a little, and Patrick shoved him back, maybe too hard, but Pete’s smile still lit up the dim car. 

_ know any place open at 12? having trouble ditching my babysitter _

But, in truth, Patrick did have fun. Only a little. And he saw no reason to admit to Pete that he had fun, especially since Pete was already casting him smug looks each time he caught sight of Patrick’s aura. 

It wasn’t so much that the shiny LA club trying so hard to emulate the grittiness of Chicago was all that impressive or that the band was that good, as neither were true. Nor did Patrick have a sudden enjoyment for going to clubs in the first place. But travelling nearly anywhere with Pete was a little different. With Pete, he floated. He didn’t like the scene any more, but there was a bit of an ego boost to people stammering, looking nervous about talking to him. Pete would have told him it was because he was  _ Patrick Stump _ , but he knew it was because he was with Pete. He didn’t mind, either. He liked being above it all, liked being surrounded by people and not forced to talk to anyone. And he liked being with Pete.

When he pulled away from a raucous conversation Pete was having with some skinny boy with blank fringed bangs hanging in his eyes, Patrick finally checked the time to see that two hours had gone by. He tugged on Pete’s sleeve and shouted over the truly terrible band Pete had so wanted him to see.

“I’m heading out!” his hands cupped around his mouth. Pete’s face fell, and Patrick felt a twinge of regret. “You can stay- I’m going to meet up with someone.”

“Are you sure?” Pete asked. The boy he was talking to looked really offended, like Pete and Patrick had started talking in the middle of one of his sentences, and, in all fairness, they might have. Patrick had grown used to tuning out the scene kids that followed Pete like disciples.

“Very sure,” Patrick said. His phone buzzed again in his pocket. He leered at Pete. “Don’t wait up for me.”

Something flickered across Pete’s face before he snorted. “Have fun and use protection, sweetie.”

Patrick flipped Pete off as he turned around, and he hailed the first cab he saw at the curb. He read the driver the address that Victoria had texted him, anxious excitement churning in his stomach. He was not, for once, afraid that everything would go wrong. 

The taxi slid to a silent stop in front of a large and nondescript hotel. It looked luxurious, but not particularly stand-out. Patrick was surprised at the location, but he walked inside with his shoulders squared.

Victoria was sitting at the deserted hotel bar, facing the lobby entrance. She smiled when she saw Patrick, but didn’t stand up. Patrick came to her instead. He ordered a scotch from the bored looking bartender, hoping he still didn’t sound uncertain when he ordered drinks. He certainly didn’t look younger than twenty-one, but it would have been embarrassing to have gotten carded. The bartender did not seem to care.

“Do you always drink scotch, or do you just want to look cool?” Victoria asked. 

“That depends on whether or not it’s working,” Patrick said. She laughed, and he couldn’t help smiling at her. “I do like scotch, for the record, but I’ll try whatever you’re having if it’s fruity. I don’t buy into the idea of some alcohol being girly. If it gets me drunk it can come in a Lisa Frank cup.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint, but it’s just a screwdriver,” Victoria said, raising the small glass of sunshine colored liquid. 

“Ugh, that’s a recipe for acid reflux,” Patrick wrinkled up his nose, and didn’t freak out over discussing acid reflux on a date. Or, maybe not a date. Victoria laughed again, tossing her head back.

“See, shit like that-” she pointed at him, her thin finger coming dangerously close to the center of his chest, “-that’s why you don’t get carded. Lucky bastard.”

“I actually think it’s the receding hairline, but thanks,” Patrick said. Victoria rolled her eyes and snatched the hat off of Patrick’s head. She carefully set the drink in her other hand down on the bar, pressing it down just hard enough that Patrick thought she might be more drunk than she sounded, the vinyl record of her voice revolving slowly and steadily. With her now free hand, she ran her fingers through his hair, knotting them in the still thick hair that grew at the nape of his neck.

“I like your hair,” she said. Her voice moved warmly through his chest like liquor, and she smiled up at him from under her eyelashes.

Patrick struggled to gather up his thoughts again. It was difficult to think while Victoria was looking at him like that. Her dress was cut low, all of her pale skin defined by the sharp, empty spaces of black that caught his eye. Her blown pupils. The crimson-black hem of her dress hitched up too high on her thighs, and the dark space between them. Her hair hanging straight and thick around her face.

“Why?” he asked after too long of a pause. The bartender set a glass down before him, and Patrick drank half of it without looking at it or really tasting it, just feeling the afterburn rake down his throat and the cold perspiration on the glass shocking his fingers into reuse. 

“It’s soft,” Victoria said. She let go, but ran her fingers through it again. “Downy.”

“Thin,” Patrick corrected. She scooted closer and slid her thigh between his legs.

“Uh-uh. You don’t get to do that. Not while I’m putting the moves on you.”

“You’re putting the moves on me?” Patrick asked, trying to keep his tone light. Light as he could, her heavy voice still dragged him back down.

“If you don’t believe me, I can prove it,” she said. “I’ve got a room here.”

Patrick’s pulse accelerated. 

“Don’t you live in the city?” he asked. 

“I don’t really want to wait that long,” she said. Her hand dropped to his thigh, squeezing it so hard he thought he would have finger marks all over him the next day.

“You’re impatient,” Patrick said. “What floor?”

Neither of them were drunk, not really. Patrick felt warmth in his chest from the drink and across his side from where Victoria leaned on him in the elevator, breathing the sharp citrus and alcohol smell onto his neck. When they stumbled into the room and he shoved her onto the bed, her eyes still lit up eagerly, he felt, for the first time in months, content.

***

“What’s the rush? Is your boyfriend expecting you?”

Patrick rolled his eyes, and even though Victoria couldn’t see him, she started laughing like she had.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Patrick said. He laced up his sneakers quickly, still revelling in the sensation of all of his muscles relaxed, of feeling peaceful. 

“Your husband?” she asked. He turned around to retort and was met with full lips on his. He breathed in the warm, flowery, Victoria scent of her skin, and she pulled away slowly, the lips separating unwillingly, ripping apart as though they had been glued together.

“Is yours?” he asked. 

“Oh, I would never marry,” she said flippantly. “Not even you.”

“Ouch,” Patrick said. “You’ve really wounded my self-esteem. I think you’re going to have to kiss it better.”

“Where’s your self-esteem?” Victoria asked.

“Well,” Patrick pretended to deliberate. “Let’s say it hangs down right between my-”

“How about next time, cowboy?” Victoria laughed. Her face grew slowly serious. “It’s, uh, like I told you. Romance isn’t my thing. Well, not so much romance. I like dates and flirting and kissing and a good dinner, but. Hmm. Relationships? Commitment? I don’t know,” she shrugged. “I don’t want to be married.” She looked suddenly frightened. “You knew that this wouldn’t be more, right?”

“I was expecting it, but keep reminding me?” Patrick suggested. “I don’t really want to end up heartbroken again.”

“I don’t want to break your heart,” she said. “I just figured- well, you’re nice, and I like you, and holy shit, I don’t know how your last girlfriend broke up with you or even managed to pull herself out of bed before you, because Jesus Christ, if that’s you after a dry spell-”

“You can stop anytime,” Patrick knew he was turning red.

“My point,” Victoria said, “Is. Well. You mentioned friends with benefits?”

“I did, yeah,” Patrick said, speaking slowly. “Did you still want that?”

Victoria smiled sleepily.

“I think it would be fantastic. Either of us can stop anytime, and no hard feelings?”

“Deal.” Patrick nodded. “And no falling in love?”

“Deal,” Victoria wrinkled up her nose. She sat up straight, then, and let the creamy bedspread slip down her chest, revealing all of her skin again. It was blossoming with bruises in the shape of Patrick’s lips, but far from being distraught, the sight made him feel almost hungry. 

“So,” she tugged on the collar of his shirt. “If your husband isn’t waiting for you… did you still want me to do something about that injured self-esteem of yours?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!


	4. Like Gargling Saltwater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick tests out his superpowers. Whales and children love him.

Patrick was quite certain that he looked like a jackass.

Shedd Aquarium was full of the quiet hum of people wandering around, looking at the fish, but it was a weekday in mid spring, and so it wasn’t especially busy. The hall buzzed with people all speaking at a low, library level of voice, but echoing off the walls. The whole building was awash in blue, and it was full of a peaceful energy, like a museum or an art exhibit. It used to be one of Patrick’s favorite places in the city, but now all of the dark blue and wavering light filtered through water made him feel uneasy. 

Still. He had to know.

Patrick hunched forward as he walked, keeping his head down. He didn’t have his hood over his head in the exhibit, too polite to think of such a thing, but he didn’t really want to get recognized. One of the few nice things about living in LA was that everyone was famous there, so kids didn’t stop him in Starbucks asking for an autograph. In Chicago, that was a real worry, and he wasn’t nearly as famous as Pete was. The aquarium was warm, though, and quite large, so he thought it was safe enough to try and remain anonymous there. 

Past the coral reefs and tanks full of shellfish and cephalopods, Patrick walked, his footfalls muffled on a deep blue carpet that matched the water and the cool lighting. The tanks on all sides of him brought back a familiar feeling of claustrophobic dread, but hearing other people talking nullified the fear. It felt normal, pleasant, even, with other people there. Just another afternoon at a museum in Chicago.

He stopped in front of a large tank. The glass panel stretched up high above his head and jutted out far in either direction. Hundreds of thousands of gallons of water were held just on the other side of that glass, creatures immense and alien undulating, drifting past him.

This was a stupid idea.

Patrick pressed one hand to the glass, then glanced furtively over his shoulder to make sure no workers were looking. He was fairly certain you weren’t supposed to touch the glass, but it wasn’t like he was tapping on it or anything. He leaned in close, and, his voice so low he didn’t think (hoped) no one could hear him, he began to gurgle the now familiar choked gurgles of mermish. 

His voice didn’t sound right, Patrick could tell that at once. Of course, it was never perfect, given that his lungs weren’t full of water, but he could already tell that it was more than that. Maybe it had been too long since he had heard the mermaids speaking, or maybe the lack of pressure above sea level was affecting his throat, but his gurgled “ _ Hello _ ” just sounded a little like he was choking.

No one heard him, thankfully, he realized as he looked from side to side, but he hadn’t accomplished anything either.

The inability to replicate his magic language skills made it all feel less real. It had been a while since Patrick and the rest of his band had escaped the mer-zoo they had been trapped in, a while since they had come back to America. They recovered in the hospital, rehydrated, ate jello, and Patrick apologized for scaring his mom. Fall Out Boy had other gigs, other interviews, more music to write, and an album drop, and all of a sudden the whole mermaid incident was forgotten. But not for him.

Patrick had done something, something abnormal. People couldn’t just speak languages they’d never learned, and more to the point, humans shouldn’t be able to speak mermish at all. It made no sense. Mermaids existing didn’t make sense either, but that wasn’t his issue. Patrick wasn’t sure what his issue was. All he knew was that all the incredible, unbelievable magic in the world was bleeding together, becoming commonplace and forgettable, but as terrifying as getting kidnapped by mermaids was, he didn’t want to lose it. He didn’t want his power to be some fight or flight fluke, some innate part of his person that got reduced to half remembered legend in a year because too much shit happened.

He wanted whatever had happened to be real.

So he glanced over his shoulder again, and when no one was looking, he murmured with his lips almost pressed to the glass. He felt a tug where his throat met his mouth, not unlike straining to reach a note out of his range. He felt the pull, reached a little farther, and spoke his greeting again. 

That time, he knew he had done it right. It didn’t sound like a gurgle, like parslemouth or Klingon, but like a real language. He heard the words in his head not as gibberish but as words.

And nothing happened.

Patrick felt stupid as he thought about it. It wasn’t like they had been kidnapped by sharks, it had been mermaids. There was no reason for the creatures in the aquarium to understand him, so there was no confirming what he could do.

Feeling stupid, Patrick slunk out of the shark area, eager to go visit his mom’s house (his excuse for coming to Chicago in the first place) and get home. He pulled his hat lower on his forehead and walked quickly, ignoring the brightly colored fish darting all around him.

But looking down seemed to be a perfect way to get lost, so rather than getting back to the entrance, he found himself in the huge open space of the oceanarium. An enormous atrium with one entire wall dedicated to glass that separated the tank water level from the waters of Lake Michigan, it was gorgeous and sunny and filled with shouting where the rest of the aquarium was all whispers. Here he could hear the splash of water and kids laughter, and see the white caps of Belugas sticking their heads out of the water. It wasn’t doing much for his mood, but he walked down empty stadium seats to the edge of the water anyway. It was still gorgeous, and he had a lot of fond memories of the aquarium, especially here.

Leaning over the rail and gazing down into the water, Patrick murmured: “ _ It’s probably good you can’t hear me _ ,” in mermish that came easily now, like a bottle unstoppered. 

The whales stopped moving.

Patrick frowned, sure it was a fluke, but he gurgled in the back of his throat, a little louder: “ _ Can you hear me _ ?” 

A bright white beluga swam up to him alarmingly fast, its whole head stuck out of the water right in front of Patrick. It was silent, but it floated in front of him very pointedly. Many of the other creatures were moving closer, and most within the area were looking at Patrick, acting abnormal. Patrick’s heart stuttered in his chest.

“ _ Shit, do you know what I’m saying? _ ” he asked eagerly. There was still no response, and he felt like kicking himself. They still weren’t mermaids, still probably didn’t have language at all. But they recognized it, the way dogs recognize humans speaking, he guessed. This wasn’t just in his head.

“ _ Don’t go _ ,” he said softly, and the whale obediently leaned closer to him, edging out of the water. The glass, he realized suddenly. There was no glass here. Of course they could hear him now. He leaned over further, eager, ready to communicate. 

“What are you doing?” a kid asked. Patrick spun away from the whale. A kid, maybe eleven or so years old, was staring up at Patrick with a look more accusing than enamored. He looked almost angry, but he took a step closer to Patrick. “Are you… are you talking to the fish?”

Patrick’s mouth felt dry. “Technically I think whales are mammals.”

“Holy shit,” the kid said. A grin broke across his face. “You’re talking to them!”

“Only kind of,” Patrick said. “They don’t know exactly what I’m saying, it just sounds familiar.” The beluga looked confused, Patrick thought, though he really didn’t have any idea what whale emotions looked like when playing out on their faces. “ _ I’m trying to explain to him _ ,” he said to the beluga, though he knew nothing in the oceanarium knew what he was saying, using real words felt better.

“Teach me!” the boy demanded suddenly.

“Sorry?” Patrick said. The boy looked frustrated.

“Show me how! I want them to come to me like that.” Patrick didn’t have to be fae to hear the longing in his voice. He wasn’t entirely comfortable with the request, but… he also wasn’t an idiot. This kid was eager, wearing a shark t-shirt and looking out at the water with desperation. And he’d already been caught.

“You know when you gargle mouthwash?” Patrick said. The kid nodded. “Right, you need to kind of do that, but make it sound like this.”

He demonstrated the noise. The kid tried to repeat it, and it was absolutely butchered. Still, the beluga nearest them turned to face the kid, curious.

“Almost,” Patrick lied. “More in the back of your throat, and focus on the syllables that come out, okay. You know what syllables are, right?”

“I’m ten, not stupid,” the kid said, glaring. He leaned out over the rail and repeated the noise, much better this time. A nearby dolphin looked over at him, suddenly alert. He let out one laugh, delighted.

“Not bad,” Patrick said. The kid wasn’t saying words, but it sounded mermish in the way that pig latin sounded English. Not good enough for mermaids, but probably good enough for fish. “Now try this:  _ motherfucker _ .” 

The swear, of course, didn’t come out in English, and the kid did a decent job of echoing it back. It wasn’t perfect, but it was clearly a swear if you were listening. Patrick giggled. 

“Yeah, you got it,” he said. “ _ I fucking love fish _ .”

“ _ I fucking love fish _ ,” the kid repeated in choppy mermish. No one in Patrick’s band could speak it back, but he didn’t know if that was from this kid wanting it more, or some undeveloped superpower the both had. Either way, it didn’t diminish the happiness Patrick felt. He was super. Maybe this kid was too. 

The two of them sat in front of a rapidly increasing group of aquatic animals for what felt like hours, Patrick teaching him curses and basic phrases in mermish until a worker came up and asked about the animals’ strange behavior. Once she mentioned getting a biologist to check on the animals, Patrick excused himself, not wanting to cause the creatures any unnecessary pain. 

“Will they come to me without you?” the kid asked as Patrick stood up. Patrick nodded.

“Back of the throat, and make sure your speaking, not just gagging,” he said. “They’ll keep coming.”

“Thanks, dude,” the kid grinned hugely up at Patrick. “It was cool meeting Aquaman.”

Patrick laughed as he walked away, and walked light and springy all the way out of the aquarium.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thought this would be a cutesy little drabble, and something to tide y'all over while I work on the finale! hope you enjoyed, and thanks for reading!


	5. Big Kids' Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan gets invited to a party. Brendon tags along. Friends of Fall Out Boy meddle with their lives.

            Ryan was invited to a Cobra Starship party. Alone.

            “Why would they invite only you!” Brendon raged. He had been pacing the back lot for a while. For some reason Pete said they couldn't stay on his bus that night (via text. With more misspellings than usual.) and while Jon and Spencer had already gotten situated on TAI’s bus, Ryan was dressed to go out, and Brendon just wanted to be outside. Tour buses were too crammed on this tour, too many twenty-something guys and not enough fresh air. He was bored and amped up and could not fucking believe that the man the myth the legend Gabe Saporta invited _Ryan_ to a party and not _him_.

            “You don't even though _like_ parties,” Brendon said.

            “I do so,” Ryan said. “Just, like, a specific breed of party. And the only way to find out if it's the right kind is to go.” Irritatingly pragmatic as always.

            Also, acting super weird, way too fucking weird for people to think he was cooler than Brendon. He'd been antsy since he got kicked off Pete and Joe's bus, wouldn't explain why, and now he was doing his makeup in the reflection of an oil slicked puddle in the parking lot. Not that he didn't look cute applying eyeliner while knelt down in semi-darkness, but it was weird!

            “I just think it’s weird that they invited specifically you!” Brendon said. Ryan sat back on his heels, closed his eyes, and let out a very long sigh. After nearly thirty seconds of this, he turned to Brendon.

            “Brendon, would you like to come to the Cobra Starship bus party with me?” he asked.

            “As your date?” Brendon asked. He leered, a little. Ryan looked good.

            “Don’t push your luck,” Ryan said, but he pecked Brendon chastely on the lips. He stuffed the eyeliner in his pocket and took Brendon’s hand, leading him over to the Cobra bus. Notable because it was leaking orange light and had an aura of pot smoke extending nearly five feet around it.

            “Should we knock?” Brendon asked, and Ryan cast him a withering look. He pushed the door open and leaned on the frame.

            “Ryro,” Gabe was leaning against the other frame, wearing sunglasses in the dead of night for some fucking reason. “Welcome to the party bus. I see you brought company?”

            “He follows me everywhere. Sometimes it gets us radio play,” Ryan said. Gabe unleashed a grin on the two of them, and beckoned them in. Sometimes Brendon wished he were like that. It wasn’t like he didn’t think he was cool, but Ryan was just. He was past cool, sometimes.

            On the bus, Brendon couldn’t help but feel a little disappointment. If this was a party, it was a very tame one. The five members of Cobra Starship and two-fifths of the Academy Is were sitting in the lounge area, low music playing in the background. They looked fake casual, more like models in a shoot of a party than people actually having fun.

            “Fun party,” Ryan said.

            “Well, things can start up properly now that you’re here,” Bill snarked. He made a show of standing up, stretching his legs out one at a time and stretching again once he stood, looking especially long. “What do you want to drink?”

            “Stop offering other people my alcohol!” Gabe called. Bill smiled, looking a little too amused for something that hadn’t seemed all that funny.

            “What do you have?” Brendon asked. Bill glanced at him like he was seeing Brendon for the first time. His eyes travelled back to Ryan before he spoke.

            “We’ve got tequila, peyote, jagerbombs, and spiced wine. It’s Bordeaux,” he added.

            “Jagerbomb,” Brendon said. He hated tequila. “Ryan wants the spiced wine.”

            “Hey!” Ryan said, glaring at him. He was quiet for a moment, then sighed. “I do want the spiced wine, thanks.”

            “Comin’ right up, sweethearts,” Bill said, pressing a kiss onto each of their cheeks. Ryan sat down on the couch, wriggling in the tiny space between Ryland and Alex. There was no space for Brendon to sit next to him, so he sat on the arm of the couch and tried not to pout.

            His not-pouting plan was much easier when he was passed a red cup that he knocked back, feeling the warmth flood his chest as soon as he swallowed. Ryan sipped slowly, made a face at first, but then swished the liquid around his mouth and swallowed.

            “So, you’re staying on our bus?” Bill asked.

            “Yeah, kicked off of Pete and Joe’s,” Brendon said. “For some fucking reason.” He thought a moment. “Hey, maybe Ashlee’s visiting!”

            “I think Ryan knows why you’re staying with us,” Sisky said softly. He looked unhappy, and suddenly Brendon felt way too far away from Ryan. Something was wrong.

            Cobra was too gathered around Ryan, leaning in, and no one was talking outside of them. Ryan was isolated, and rather than being hyper aware of what was going on, he had a big, loopy smile on his face. He took another deep draught of his drink.

            “This,” Ryan said. “Is compulsion wine. Isn’t it?”

            “It’s what?!” Brendon shouted. He jumped to his feet, knocking the rest of his drink to the ground. Before he could move he felt strong, tens arms wrapped around his chest. The rest of the cups were filled with water, and Gabe was holding him still. Brendon was seething and a little afraid. “What the fuck? What the fuck?!”

            “Calm down, Brendon,” Gabe said in his ear. Ryan hummed happily, still drinking from that fucking cup.

            “Yeah, baby,” Ryan said. “Calm down.”

            “What the fuck are you doing?!” Brendon demanded. He was strong enough, stronger than anyone there knew. He’d figured out so much alone and with the band and a few bars could make the earth swallow the Cobra bus, but these guys were their _friends_ , they were supposed to be on the same side. But they had also just drugged Ryan, and that wasn’t really adding up.

            “We just need to ask Ryan a few questions, and we need an honest answer,” Gabe said. “Bill?”

            “Ryan,” Bill knelt down in front of him like he would a child, staring directly into Ryan’s eyes. “Do you know why Patrick is upset?”

            “Is Patrick upset?” Ryan asked. “I guess Pete probably turned him down.”

            “Turned him down?” Victoria asked.

            “Mmm,” Ryan let his head flop onto her shoulder. “Yeah. He was coming to confess his love to Pete, and Pete was trying to decide if he was gonna turn him down or reciprocate. Guess he picked.”

            “Holy fuck,” Alex muttered. That mirrored Brendon’s feelings pretty well, but he was still more concerned with Ryan than whatever they were trying to get out of him. Though still, a distant part of his brain said _Pete and Patrick? Really?_ And an even more distant part of his brain said _Patrick isn’t straight?!!!_

            “Okay,” Bill recovered quickly. “So, wait, does Pete have feelings for Patrick?”

            “Oooooh, yeah,” Ryan giggled. “He’s sooo hot for him. Madly in love and all.”

            “Then why turn him down?” Bill asked.

            “Probably because of the prophecy,” Ryan said. He was swirling the wine around inside the cup, frowning at it. “You’re fae, does that mean you actually mixed this with Bordeaux?”

            “Yes, and you can take the bottle back,” Bill said patiently. “What prophecy?”

            “The prophecy I made when I was a little kid,” Ryan said. “It’s about Fall Out Boy. Heroes of the modern age or some shit. And if Pete and Patrick get together, Patrick will die. Or he’ll trip. Or both. Or all of humanity will be fucked. The wording wasn’t especially clear. I told Pete when I saw he was gonna tell Patrick.”

            “Oh, Ryan,” Gabe said. “Why the fuck would you do something like that?”

            “I figured he deserved to know,” Ryan said. “It’s his business, and I couldn’t not warn him. I’m a good guy. I’m, like, a saint. In fact, I’m like, a latter-day saint!” He made finger guns at Brendon. Ryland gently pushed his hands back down by his sides.

            “What exactly is the wording of the prophecy?” Gabe demanded.

            “The whole thing? Okay, um, _One meant to rise and one to fall/ one to lead with a_ -”

            “Not the whole thing,” Gabe said. “Just the Pete and Patrick part.”

            “Mkay,” Ryan said, and cleared his throat. “ _When love requited starts to rise/ ‘tween man and myth with glowing eyes/ the story meets with bitter end/ two lovers better off as friends/ a darkness spreads across the land/ and fae will lead to the fall of man_.”

            The whole room was silent with the weight of Ryan’s words. Even Brendon was frozen, no longer struggling in Gabe’s arms as he let Ryan’s prophecy settle down amongst them.

            “So, if they get together Patrick will die, and the world will probably end,” Victoria said.

            “Yeah, Pete didn’t ever seem to care about the end of the world. Just the ‘fae will lead to the fall of man’ part.”

            Poor fucking Pete, Brendon thought. Poor fucking Patrick. He felt guilty for whining now, wondering if he could go over, go to one of them, make it better, somehow. How bad had it been?  
            “Do you know anything else about all this?” Bill asked. Ryan shook his head.

            “Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p’ sound and then giggling. “How bad are they?”

            “I guess we will figure that out,” Gabe said. “Erm, there’s not actually a party. You guys should probably go to sleep.” He let go of Brendon and Brendon was across the bus, holding Ryan, face pressed to Ryan’s face. _He’s okay he’s okay he’s okay_.

            “Sorry about the compulsion wine,” Bill said, sounding only a little remorseful. Brendon glared at him, practically growling, practically foaming at the mouth. He had a list of scathing things to say, but all that came out was:

            “We toured with you!”

            “And we graciously forgave you for stealing our Jon. Let’s call it even,” Bill said. Brendon growled as he hauled Ryan to his feet, pulling him out of the bus.

            “Well, now what?” Ryland asked as the door slammed shut behind them.

            “Come on,” Brendon said. “Let’s get you to bed.”

            Ryan leaned on him, humming to himself, nuzzling into Brendon’s neck. “You don’t wanna take advantage of me?” he asked. Brendon pulled him a little closer. He was bent over, so Brendon could kiss the downy hair on top of his head with ease.

            “Not tonight,” he said. “Tonight, I just want to be with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is from Brendon's POV, and I really liked it! I would apologize for the rydon but... there's never a need to apologize for rydon. I hope you guys liked it!


	8. Happily Ever After (Below the Waist)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The long-awaited (by no one) feelings-y discussion of Pete and Patrick

            On the morning after the last show of the tour, Pete and Patrick drove back up to Pete’s house in LA, leaving the motel behind them. They stopped at a gas station and got slushies (fluorescent red cherry flavored and blue raspberry swirled together, as was the only proper way to drink a crappy gas station slushy) with candy sour punch straws to drink them with. And while they meandered up the coast of California, in no real hurry to be home or turn their phones back on or do anything but be out in the summer sun with each other, they talked.

            “So when did this all start?” Patrick asked. “I mean. I guess you weren’t always interested in me, or that whole ‘scouted in high school’ thing becomes a lot creepier. How long have you been gay below the waist?”

            “You aren’t the first guy I’ve been with,” Pete said. Patrick snorted.

            “Yeah, Mikey, right. Did you know before, though?”

            “I don’t know.” Pete was driving that morning, sipping intermittently on the slushy. “I don’t think I’ve always been into dudes. I haven’t always been into coffee either.”

            “Penis is an acquired taste?”

            Pete flipped Patrick off, but he was grinning out the windshield.

            “I’m serious!”

            “I don’t know,” Pete said with a shrug. “Really. I think I just fall in love with people, not gender, and I happened to only fall for girls before.”

            They were quiet for a moment, with nothing but the sound of the air conditioner whirring and the wind rushing by outside. It was nice, Pete thought, cold from the A/C and drinks and hot from the sun pouring into the car. Warm from the contented yellow glow of Patrick’s aura, from Patrick.

            “When was it me?” Patrick asked. “Or, I mean, when did you start to think-”

            “I got it,” Pete said, smiling just a little. He fidgeted a little in his seat. “Um, since Chicago.”

            “Since we lived there?”

            “No, no!” Pete said quickly. “Since- since you got involved with Chicago.”

            “Really?” Patrick sounded sort of pleased, and a fair bit surprised. “Why then?”

            “Well, first off, because I didn’t think boys were an option for you before then. You were absolutely not in the cards for romantic options and then there was him. I know he wasn’t really a guy, but he definitely wasn’t a girl.”

            “Fair enough,” Patrick said. “What else?”

            “Look, this is gonna sound sappy as hell, but I need you to know that you literally asked for it,” Pete said. He sighed. “Your aura around him. You were glowing and happy and I’d seen people happy before but-- I just wanted to see that for the rest of my life. I wanted to be the one causing it, but I wasn’t going to get in the way of someone else doing it. I just wanted you to be happy.”

            It was quiet in the car for a moment, but Pete was too much of a coward to look away from the road and gauge Patrick’s emotions.

            “Pete?”

            “Yeah?”

            “That was super gay.”

            “Dick.”

            Patrick chuckled and leaned over the gearshift, kissing him on the side of his jaw. “It’s okay. I like that you’re super gay. And that’s sweet.”

            “Yeah, whatever,” Pete could tell his cheeks were probably a little pink at that point, so he tried to turn the conversation. “What about you? The gay thing and the gay for me thing.”

            “The gay thing? Shit, I still don’t know,” Patrick said. “I like you- okay, no, that’s not fair, I love you, I’m in love with you. And I was in love with Chicago, who, not a dude, but not a girl, like you said. And the thing with the frog prince. But I don’t know. I’m still kinda working on that one. Bisexual with a serious preference for girls, maybe. Like, I don’t wanna go down on Leonardo DiCaprio all of a sudden, you know?”

            “No, I’m with you. If it’s between Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, I’m Angelina all the way.”

            “Exactly. But I dunno. Maybe I’ll do some research, watch some porn, search my soul and figure shit out.”

            “Do you even need porn when you have me?” Pete asked, batting his eyes at Patrick.

            “If you keep making that face, quite frequently,” Patrick said. “As for the you thing. Jesus. This is about to get real fucking embarrassing so don’t say anything till I’m done, okay?”

            Pete nodded his assent.

            “Right, well, I realized it consciously after the fanfiction curse,” Patrick said. His slushy was melting in the cupholder next to him, and he was picking at stray threads on his shirt. “But even then I think that just- like, exacerbated the feelings that were already there, you know? Like it brought them to the surface for me. So I spent a lot of time myself trying to figure it out. And I can’t make fun of you, because I know it started for me before Chicago. I was all weird around Mikey and I think that was mostly jealousy, kind of like Chicago for you because I couldn’t be jealous of girls, but if it was a guy, and it wasn’t me… I don’t know. I hated him, though.

            “But I don’t think it started there. I didn’t have a thing for you when I met you, obviously, obnoxious weirdo that you are.”

            “You sure do know how to charm a guy,” Pete said. Patrick glared at him, and Pete made a big show of pressing his lips together.

            “Yeah, so not when we first met. Not for a while, I guess, but the first time I think I felt this… attachment, I guess, because it wasn’t love like this at first, it was probably at the Drake.”

            “The Drake Hotel?” Pete asked. “Back in 2004?” He knew he was supposed to keep quiet, but he was astounded.

            “I think so,” Patrick said. He was blushing, and contrary to the fanfiction curse, Pete knew that was a pretty rare occurrence. He liked the color on Patrick’s skin, though. “I don’t… remember the whole thing. But like, I didn’t want Anna there when things were falling apart. I just wanted you. I remember when I was mostly unconscious and in so much pain that I was panicked when you weren’t there and only felt sort of okay when you were. And I know that can be friendship, but it felt different. I want to say stronger, but that’s not it. Just… different. I needed you to be with me.”

            The car was very silent.

            “And you have the audacity to call my story gay,” Pete said. Patrick punched him in the arm, but not as hard as he would have once.

            “We are never gonna get through a serious conversation like this.”

            “Hey! you did it first!”

            “Anyway,” Patrick said firmly. “I think that was it. Mabe around the time I first passed out it started… changing.”

            “Well shit, Rick, if we’re counting when it stopped being one hundred percent platonic, mine probably goes further back than that.”

            “Like when?” Patrick was laughing, and the sound was so fucking pretty that Pete would have told him every embarrassing story he knew to hear more of it.

            “Um… H.H. Holmes,” Pete said. “When I got to the peephole and was just watching you die…” he realized he had picked a bad memory halfway through saying it. His throat got choked up and his chest felt too tight to go on. Patrick squeezed his hand.

            “Didn’t die,” Patrick said. “Haven’t yet. No immediate plans to.”

            He would one day, but Pete pushed that thought out of his head before it could take root. He was having an excellent day, and he wasn’t going to ruin it for himself. He sipped at his slushy, now mostly melted, but still cold enough to send shivers all up and down his chest.

            “You’d better not,” Pete said. “You take years off my life every time you pull shit like the dragon thing.”

            “I’ll never jump into the maw of a dragon again,” Patrick said. He leaned over and kissed Pete on his jaw. “Come on. I wanna get back to your house already. You’re wearing, like, way too much.”

            Pete couldn’t hold back a smile. He pressed down on the gas pedal and kept driving.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wrote this over a lunch break at work. Hope y'all like it! Comment and tell me what you think/wanna see


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